


Not Myself Today

by Graceless_Grace



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: After The Strike, Canon Disabled Character, Disabled Character, F/M, Fever, Jealousy, M/M, Sick Fic, Sickfic, crutchie jealous of davey, envy - Freeform, jack/crutchie if u squint, missing a friend
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:30:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graceless_Grace/pseuds/Graceless_Grace
Summary: Shortly after the strike, Crutchie finds himself still recovering from his ill-treatment at the Refuge. Despite this, his strong-willed nature draws eyes off his degrading health, just when he needs help the most. Feeling Jack has given up on him, or worse still, replaced him with Davey in his heart, Crutchie begins to fall inward, sorrow and fever consuming whatever is left of him. The other boys try to help recover.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never been a fan of how Crutchie is ~magically~ well when released from the Refuge, or that he's totally fine with Jack being to suddenly friendly with Davey. Thought this would make me feel better about it. :)

Across all of New York City, news boys and girls flocked to the streets, eager to return to their regular selling spots now that the strike was settled. The boys of midtown Manhattan were no exception, most of them running fast and far after paying for their papers. Most, meaning every boy but one.

Crutchie, still noticably slow after his time in the refuge, lagged behind, struggling silently as he shoved his regular stack of twenty newspapers into his bag. The weight on his side made him lose his balance for a moment, and he stumbled, hitting Davey by accident. The older boy smiled softly, a smile Crutchie could only envy. His was big and goofy, good for charming broads into buying his papers, but not for much else. It was no wonder everyone had so quickly accepted Les and Davey into their hearts, although Crutchie couldn’t hekp but remember a time when  _he_  was the new newsboy, everyone wearily tiptoeing around him and taking weeks upon weeks to give him the time of day.

“Crutchie?” 

Davey’s voice brought him back to reality, pulling him out of a world inside his head, filled to the brim with envy. Davey didn’t do anything wrong, but neither had he... it didn’t matter. He had his hands on Crutchie’s shoulders now, holding him steady. Crutchie hadn’t even noticed when he stopped leaning on his crutch, and if it hadn’t been for Davey’s grip on him, there was no telling how hard he could have hit the floor.

“What? Sorry, I’se... not all here today, I guess.”

Davey sighed, smiling that stupid small smile again, the one that signaled his feelings better than  _any_  gesture Crutchie could ever even hope to make. “I asked if you were alright,” he explained. “You’re usually pretty skilled with that crutch,” he paused to laugh, “I didn’t think you ever lost your balance.”

Crutchie felt a jealous pang in his heart once Davey finished, as Jack’s voice rang through Newsie Square, calling not for his  ~~best friend~~  brother, but for Les and Davey. He didn’t want to see Jack right now, and better still, he didn’t want Jack to see him like this. He could still feel the burn of envy upon his cheeks, pale skin stained by an ugliness he couldn’t seem to contain. Or was it that he didn’t want to?

“Someone important’s calling you,” Crutchie resumed leaning on his crutch, using his good leg to turn away from Davey and propel himself in the opposite direction of the boys (and  _his_  usual selling spot). 

* * *

 

Crutchie couldn’t justify returning to the Lodging House with one paper, let alone all twenty, so he leaned far too heavily upon his crutch, lifting the foot on his bad leg up off the ground when he walked instead of just dragging his leg behind him. He couldn’t ignore the fact that it actually felt better on his leg - the leg that developed a special new throbbing pain at the refuge and hadn’t stopped since - even though the stiff, old wood of the crutch digging into his armpit made him want to stop walking all together. 

The pitiful sight his temporary new way of walking combined with his slower speed made the lighthearted of New York pity him. He hated pity, but he liked selling papers, even if it wasn’t his usual way. He still managed to see a few regulars, and a few of them gave him extra change with a promise to “rest up, son”.

With an hour to spare before the selling time would officially be over, Crutchie made his way (slowly, painfully) back to the Lodging House, which he found empty. Thank god.

He loved the other boys, really, he did, but since the Refuge he had been so damn  _tired._ Jack knew more than most how hard that place was, and Crutchie figured after he couldn’t make it to the window, Jack would make him take it easy for these first few weeks following the strike. It just... never happened. Jack embrassed every new aspect of his life with open arms, most of his hesitation either hidden or thrown to the wind; Les and Davey selling, seeing Katherine, drawing cartoons for The World... Crutchie was old new now, he  _and_  his bum leg. 

With the boys still out selling, and likely to be out for at least another hour, Crutchie decided to climb the latter to Jack’s penthouse he best he could, not bothering to bite back his grunts of discomfort. By the time he made it all the way up, he was sweating and shaking, huffing as though he had just run to Brooklyn and back. Still, the cool breeze from being up so high felt good against his heated skin, and when he closed his eyes he could picture Santa Fe in his head, the bedtime story Jack had clung to for ages, repeating like a lullaby for Crutchie and the other boys. He hummed under his breath, back pressed against the stiff railing of the roof, taking in the crisp clean air of the memories that never were:

Horseback riding, golden moonlight, days of nothing but blissful laziness and rest... 

Within a few minutes, Crutchie was asleep, the cool breeze turning icy around him.

* * *

 

“He’s up here!” 

Crutchie woke to the sound of Specs yelling beside him, probably down to the other boys of the house. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but it made sense. He was just so tired... maybe if he closed his eyes again the other boys would pipe down and let him rest, even a little. 

“Crutchie, don’t fall asleep if you know what’s good for you.”

He groaned, prying his eyes open, mist and moonlight hitting his skin. 

“Wh...what’s goin’ on, Specs?” he swallowed thickly, noticing now how dry and swollen his throat felt. Everything was fuzzy around the edges, darkness threatening to pull him back under it’s sweet, warm embrace. 

Specs sighed beside him. “We got back hours ago, Crutchie. How long have you been asleep up here? Jack’ll kill us if you get sick on our watch.”

Crutchie scoffed, swallowing again. “Jack doesn’t care what I do, Specs. Relax.”

“What? Of course he - hey, I’m talkin’ to you!” 

Crutchie had grabbed his crutch in one hand, using the other to crawl to the ladder. Getting down hurt more than going up had, and when his bad leg hit the floor of the Lodging House, he found he couldn’t bite back the pained noise it caused. 

“You okay?” Race asked, helping him adjust his crutch. 

Crutchie grunted softly in reply, moving to his bed. “’m fine, Race. Jus’ sore from the refuge, not that Jack-” he stopped himself, noticing the stinging in his eyes that forewarned tears. Newsies didn’t cry, especailly Crutchie, and being this upset over something so small... it wasn’t like him at all. He felt like he was becoming a different person.

“I just ain’t feelin’ like myself recently is all,” he admitted, resting his crutch against the side of the bed. A few of the closest boys exchanged looks of worry. 

Race moved beside the bed and laid a hand against his forehead, frowning deeply in dismay. “A fever,” he sighed, turning to Specs. Crutchie had already fallen asleep, breathing deeply in and out without a care in the world, now. 

“You send word to Jack, I’ll stay here and watch ‘im. You know Crutchie, once he’s feelin’ sick, it all goes downhill.”

* * *

“Sick?” Davey repeated, glancing at Jack. He had brought Davey with him to Medda’s after dropping Les off at home to put finishing touches on a backdrop he was painting for the theatre, a task that usually would have seem Crutchie in tow as well. “He  _was_  acting strange this morning, I suppose I just thought he was having an off morning...”

Jack hung the painting back up on the wall behind him, giving his brushes a quick rinse before calling to Medda that there was an emergency at the Lodging House that needed him there yesterday. After that, the three of them took off like a shot.

* * *

Specs had barely left when Crutchie rolled on his side, coughing harshly into the air. Race’s frown deepened when he realized his fever had risen, sweat glistening on his brow. Some of the others crowded close, Romeo among them with a damp rag. 

“You’se better get through this one like every other one, Crutchie Morris.”


	2. Chapter 2

By the time Jack arrived at the house, Crutchie’s burning brow had gone through 3 cold rags, Romeo ready with a fresh one each time Race deemed the previous too warm to be effective. Crutchie had always been the one who got the sickest of all the boys in the Lodging House. Hell, he got the sickest of any newsboy in Manhattan. Probably in all of New York, with his history. Every winter began with Crutchie catching  _something_  bad, followed by him catching something worse, and then another illness worser still. He always managed to pull through, and despite every newsie in Manhattan knowing this well, each new illness made them nervous to say the least. 

Crutchie was a special kind of newsie. He didn’t hold grudges or anger in his heart like some others did; his life of sickness, disability, and sleeping on the street had yet to harden his heart, and every morning he remained a positive ray of sunshine amidst a cold world that only seemed to grow colder some days. He was loved by every other newsies in New York, no matter their turf or situation. Everyone just  _loved_  Crutchie Morris, and everything he was naturally. 

Jack kept close to him through every illness, no matter the risks, to keep his friend safe and sane. The two were close, and Jack was one of the only newsies in which Crutchie would confide; if he wasn’t walking well, or felt sick, or had a heavy heart, Jack was who he’d tell. Through him, the other newsies would learn about Crutchie’s well-being, and adjust accordingly, whether that be leaving the best selling spots for him to stumble upon or all chip in for hot soup from the deli…

…so why hadn’t they learned about this sooner? Sure, he  _had_  been sleeping outside in the frigid Manhattan air, but a few hours of that wouldn’t be enough to cause a fever like this so suddenly. No, Crutchie obviously must have been feeling sick earlier and neglected to tell anyone. That was, unfortunately, how he operated. 

“You thinkin’ the same thing I’se thinkin’, Specs?” Romeo asked, noticing how he was lost in thought. “About Crutchie?”

Specs nodded, pulling up a chair beside the bed. Race had shifted positions at one point, cradling Crutchie’s limp body in his arms, his sweaty head safe against Race’s chest, another cold rag against his brow. Besides Jack himself, Crutchie was noticeably closest to Racetrack Higgins, for whatever reason. Race felt close too, though, and worried just as much as Jack did whenever Crutchie got sick. Every fever, random illness, or unstable cough saw Jack by Crutchie’s side with Race close behind. 

“There’s jus’ no way this shit just started,” Race sighed, using the rag to wipe away a few stray beads of sweat dribbling down Crutchie’s temple. “He ain’t right since the Refuge.”

Romeo sighed beside Race, giving him a quick pat on the back. “We’re gonna have ta cover for him for at least a week.” 

The others nodded, although none of them were too worried about it. Crutchie usually saved pennies in a jar under his bed in case he got really sick and couldn’t afford to sell for a long stretch of time. One or two of the other boys would take a penny from the jar and turn it into a few days rent so Crutchie wouldn’t have to worry about anything other than recovering quickly. 

Before any other worries could surface, Jack and Davey entered, making a beeline for the bed. 

“He’s been feverish since we’s been back from sellin’,” Specs explained, barely taking his eyes off the motionless figure in Race’s arms. “We found him asleep on the roof, but he must’ave ‘ad a fever before then.”

Jack sighed, crouching beside the bed. “Is it bad yet?” he asked, holding his breath.

“Not the worst of it, if I know Crutchie,” Race sighed, shifting the boy in his arms. “I don’ get it, Jack. He always le’s someone know when he ain’t feelin’ right.”

Before anything else could be said, Crutchie twisted in Race’s arms, groaning in discomfort. His eyes cracked open, fever making them cloudy and watery. Tears trailed down his cheeks, bringing attention to the cherry-colored stain of his cheeks, burning from fever. 

“Crutch?” Jack asked, purposely keeping his voice low. “You wit’ us?”

He groaned, forcing his eyes open fully. At first, he was happy to see Jack, but in an instant he realized Davey was beside him also, Davey who had replaced him. Davey who took his place in Jack’s heart when Crutchie was stuck in the refuge; Davey could run away when Crutchie couldn’t even walk right. No wonder Jack didn’t want to be his brother any more. 

Despite the pain it pushed into his bad leg, Crutchie turned away from Jack, grasping Race’s hand in his and pressing it to his boiling cheek for comfort. He sniffed softly, unable to hold back his tears but at least able to save some face in front of the guys. 

“Crutchie, is something else wrong?”

He could tell it was Davey asking, and he didn’t care to answer. Not to his replacement. 

“C’mon, Crutch, talk to me.” 

Jack…

“Go ‘way,” he mumbled, voice cracking. “Jus’ wanna stay wi’h Racey.”

Jack was taken back. “What?” He glanced at the other boys, who, aside from the one simply shrugging their shoulders, simply stared at him with confusion in their eyes. “C’mon, Crutchie, I’se worried about you. Davey, too, and-“

Crunchie huffed weakly and turned away.

That pained little puff of air, of course, quickly became a fit of coughs. The air caught in Crutchie’s throat, lungs tightening their grip, stars dancing across his vision. The coughs were dry and sounding painful, like someone choking, and Race pushed him into more of an upward position to help subdue them.

After what felt like hours, it finally stopped, leaving Crutchie out of breath, gasping for air as tears poured down his cheeks, mixing with the sticky sweat on his skin.

“Race,” he gasped, more coughs threatening to rise to the surface, “It  _hurts_!”

Despite what he had just been told, Jack came closer to the boy alongside Specs, who helped Crutchie drink a little water.

He was fading again - fast.

**Author's Note:**

> I take requests! Hit me up either on my blog (graceless-fever) or here. ♡  
> Please don't forget to comment if you liked it!


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